Unsinkable
by SpaceTimeConundrum
Summary: What happened to the Starship Titanic on Pete's World? Alt!Fifth Doctor and Astrid save London from catastrophe. Menacing robots, decorative vegetables, and perhaps a little romance within.
1. Chapter One

_Note - This story takes place in the Pete's World Universe_

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**Unsinkable**

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**Chapter One**

Disabling the TARDIS recall circuit had been a more involved procedure than he'd expected. Considering the frequency with which her other, more vital systems, seemed to malfunction, it was almost inexplicable the degree of effort required for him to purposefully sabotage the link back to Gallifrey High Command. Almost. It was, after all, at least partially a security system intended to keep renegades like himself in check. He admitted grudgingly that it did make a bit of sense for such a system to be somewhat difficult to remove. That didn't make it any less irritating.

He was fleeing the Presidency for the second time in as many regenerations and after the incident with Borusa, he didn't fancy being dragged back to deal with Time Lord politics any time soon. If he'd had any sense at all, he'd have dismantled it ages ago, but it had taken the Counsel a long time to even note his absence, let alone attempt to bring him back, so it hadn't really occurred to him. If he'd never called them in to deal with the Warlord, alerting them to his whereabouts, he doubted the subsequent trial for interference, forced regeneration, and exile to Earth would have occurred. Once he'd regained the use of his TARDIS, he was sure he'd intended to deal with the recall circuit, but these sort of things had a tendency to get put off. Next thing you knew, a couple centuries had passed and you'd long since forgotten.

Other than the hum of the engines, the TARDIS was a remarkably quiet place now. He was traveling on his own for the first time since regenerating and finding that despite how frequently maddening his companions were, it was terribly lonely without anyone to talk to other than his ship. He'd grown quite used to the sounds of bickering voices in the console room.

He'd just left Turlough on Trion with his brother, having used the young man's request to return home as an excuse to make his hasty retreat from Gallifrey. Adric had remained behind, having finally gotten his wish to visit the Doctor's home world; the opportunity to study mathematics in the Citadel was too great a temptation for the boy to resist. The Doctor rather thought that the Time Lords would soon be regretting their decision to grant _that_ request; no matter how fond of the lad he himself might have become, his natural exuberance, not unlike the Doctor's own as a youth, would no doubt create friction. He even missed Tegan's brash Australian voice arguing with him over his inability to land where he'd intended. He frowned as thinking of her simply served to remind him of his regrets regarding her departure from the TARDIS following their final encounter with the Mara. He couldn't blame her, three was well in excess of the number of times any sane being could be expected to deal with having their mind subsumed by a malevolent entity.

This would've been much easier if he'd still had his sonic screwdriver, he thought and added constructing a new one to his list of things to do. Climbing to his feet, the Doctor checked the console to make sure he hadn't accidentally disconnected something important. Navigation systems appeared to be online and functional, but he'd need to test it. Setting a familiar destination, he activated the time rotor and turned to retrieve his coat and jumper from the hat stand near the door.

He didn't make it that far though. There was a mighty shudder and terrific noise as the far wall of the TARDIS buckled in to reveal the prow of what appeared to be a large sea-going vessel. An old fashioned floatation ring rolled past his feet. The Doctor yelped and dashed to the controls. The shields were still down! Frantically, he cued the dematerialization sequence, reactivated the shields, and recalibrated the coordinates to land inside the ship.

"Sorry, old girl," he patted the TARDIS console apologetically, "I should have checked the shields before we left the vortex." His ship responded with a disgruntled hum.

He brushed dust off of his shirt and trousers and turned to inspect the damage. The hole in the wall had mended itself, as was to be expected, but there was still a great deal of debris strewn about the floor from the collision. There wasn't any reason why the TARDIS herself couldn't have taken care of that as well, but he suspected she was going to make him clean it up as punishment for being forgetful. He supposed he deserved that.

The view screen revealed that he'd managed to re-park her inside of some sort of coat closet so the Doctor figured some in-person reconnaissance was in order. He ventured outside the TARDIS and opened the closet door to reveal a festive party in full swing onboard the observation deck of what appeared to be a luxury starship. The Doctor spun appreciatively in place, hands in pockets, taking it all in. The guests were humanoid at a glance and for the most part attired in varying interpretations of black tie. They mingled near the bar and sat at the many tables throughout the room as a small band played holiday songs in the background.

He was about to head over to the windows to get a better look at the planet they were approaching when he was stopped by a firm hand. The Doctor looked up to see a large man in black suit staring down at him in obvious distaste.

"I'm sorry sir," the man began, "but while Max Capricorn Cruiseliners respects varying cultural expressions of attire, we do ask that our guests dress appropriately for dining in a multispecies environment."

The Doctor blinked and then looked down at himself. He was in just his regular striped trousers and rolled shirtsleeves, which ordinarily would not seem indecent enough to create a fuss about, but he was also covered in grease and white dust from the TARDIS, which he conceded might make him a bit of a sight for polite company.

"Ah. I see your point," the Doctor murmured, "I'd forgotten I was in such a state. Let me just fetch my coat and I'll get myself cleaned up before I return, shall I?" Without waiting for an answer, he pivoted and ducked back inside the closet to change.

When the Doctor emerged several minutes later, it was in a smart black tuxedo and bow tie with a cream coloured waistcoat worn beneath it. With a cheerful nod to the confused look on the large man's face who'd insisted he change, he adjusted the piece of celery fixed to his lapel and sauntered unopposed into the room.

As he approached the large porthole, an official sounding voice announced that the ship was entering orbit around Sol 3, also known as Earth, and welcomed them all to Christmas, of all things. What caught the Doctor's attention though was the name of the ship. The _Titanic_, really? Whose idea had _that_ been?

He spied a computer interface on the wall nearby and wandered over to it to see if he could find any more information. When he touched the panel, he was treated to an obnoxious advertisement for the cruise line featuring its illustrious founder but devoid of any actual information regarding their voyage. He frowned and once again lamented the loss of his screwdriver, which might've come in handy here. An alternative approach occurred to him as he spotted another guest speaking with the golden robots he'd initially assumed were merely decorative, given their white robes, golden wings and haloes. He walked up to the nearest one and greeted it warmly.

"Hello, could I trouble you to answer a few questions for me please?" he asked.

"Guest information services available. Please state your query," it replied.

"Could you tell me what the local date is on the planet below us?" While he was asking questions, he might as well see if he'd landed anywhere near in time to his programmed destination.

"Information: the date is 24 December, 2008 under the most commonly accepted planetary calendar system for Sol 3. This date coincides with an important cultural festival celebrated by a large number of the planet's dominant species known as Christmas."

"2008, ah." _Close enough_, the Doctor thought, at least he hadn't completely broken the navigation circuits this time. "Why was this ship named the Titanic?" he asked with an amused twinkle in his eye that was entirely lost on the robot.

"Information: the name was selected in honour of the most famous vessel of the destination planet Sol 3, the HMS Titanic."

The Doctor chuckled and muttered, "I don't suppose anyone bothered to find out just why it was so famous." He glanced at the robot's impassive metal face. "Where is the Max Capricorn Cruiseliners organization based?"

"Information: Max Capricorn Cruiseliners is incorporated out of the planet Sto, in the Casivanian Belt."

"How long until we return to port on Sto?" the Doctor inquired.

"Information: the Titanic will not be returning to Sto," it answered him.

"What? Where is our destination then?"

"Information: Information: Information," the robot began jerking its head unsteadily and repeating itself. Before he could do anything, two of the ship stewards approached swiftly, apologizing for the inconvenience and one of them pressed a button at the back of the robot's neck, deactivating it.

"So sorry, sir, just a software malfunction, please feel free to use another of our Heavenly Hosts while we see that this one is repaired immediately. Merry Christmas!" the steward told him and the two hurried off straining under the weight of their metal burden.

The Doctor frowned. That had been suspiciously abrupt. But he didn't get a chance to ask anyone about it before he was distracted by the sound of breaking glass and raised voices behind him. He turned to find a man in a slightly damp tuxedo berating a waitress as she scrambled to retrieve her tray and broken glassware from the floor at the man's feet. The man dismissed her rudely and returned to his attention to the conversation he'd obviously been having through his earpiece, muttering disparagements about the staff and how it was obvious why the company was doing so poorly.

The Doctor stooped to help the waitress clear the glass. She looked as though she'd had a hard day but had admirably maintained her cool despite behaviour the Doctor felt would have challenged his own generally pacifist tendencies.

"Oh no, thank you, but I can get it myself sir," she protested.

"Of course you can, but it's Christmas, isn't it? Some of us do still remember our manners." He gave her a friendly smile. "I'm the Doctor, by the way."

She smiled back at him, tucking a stray blonde curl behind her ear. "Astrid, sir, Astrid Peth."

"Lovely to meet to you Astrid." He deposited another shard on her tray carefully.

"Are you enjoying the cruise sir?" she asked him conversationally.

"I suppose I am, yes. Though, I must confess, I am finding that a cruise by one's self is... somewhat lacking," he answered her, perhaps more honestly than he'd intended.

"Oh, you're not with anyone?"

"No, not at the moment. My friends have... well, their own lives it seems. What about you?" he asked, eager to get the topic off of himself. "We're a long way from Planet Sto."

"Doesn't feel much different," she shrugged, "spent three years working in the space port diner, then I came all this way, and I'm still waiting on tables." She brushed the last bit of glass on to the tray and they both stood.

"No shore leave then?" he tipped his head meaningfully toward the nearest porthole.

"No," she shook her head regretfully, "not allowed. They can't afford the insurance. I always wanted to try it, just once..." She turned to look out the window and he moved to join her. The planet below them was beautiful, half bright blue and brown in the sunlight, half dark save for the glittering lights of cities. Their reflections were solemn in the glass.

"Never stood on another world," she continued, softly. "I used to watch those ships heading out to the stars. Always dreamt of... Ohh, sounds daft."

The Doctor understood exactly how she felt though and locked eyes with her briefly before turning to gaze out the window as he spoke. "No it doesn't. You dreamt of the extraordinary, of venturing out beyond what you already know. There's a whole wide universe of worlds to explore, stars to see, mysteries to uncover. How could anyone stand still with that much out there?"

"...yeah," she agreed, giving him an awed look for a moment before snapping back to herself, "So! Um. Do you travel a lot, then?"

He nodded. "Constantly. When I was younger, I always wanted to see the universe. Got tired of waiting, so one day I just left. Been wandering ever since."

That look of awe returned. "You must be rich then."

He smiled and shook his head. "Hardly."

She frowned. "Then how'd you get onboard?"

He gave her a crooked smile and answered in a hushed voice, "stowed away, I'm afraid."

"You didn't!" She laughed.

"I did. Was an accident, mind you. I've my own ship and while I was doing some repair work, I bumped into the Titanic. Seemed to be a bit of a party going on, figured I might as well stay for a while."

"I should report you," she said, not at all seriously.

"No doubt." His blue eyes sparkled at her.

"I'll get you a drink. On the house." She smiled at him and hurried off with her tray before any of the stewards could catch her chatting with a guest.

His mood substantially improved after speaking with Astrid, the Doctor wandered the room, taking in the tastefully decorated Christmas tree and rapidly filling dance floor. He'd yet to have a regeneration that had any talent for dancing. Not that that had ever actually stopped his previous self, or his second, but then, neither of those regenerations had lacked for willingness to embarrass one's self. He supposed it was entirely possible he could surprise himself, since technically he'd never properly made the attempt in this body, having been rather unfortunately detained by a murder accusation the last time he'd been invited to a dance. Lacking a partner to acquire the requisite experimental data with, and reluctant to subject a complete stranger to his untested abilities, he withdrew to find somewhere to sit and await Astrid's promised reappearance.

He spotted a couple seated by themselves at a table, rather incongruously dressed in matching faux-western costumes, complete with tassels, and trying to eat whilst pointedly ignoring the sniggering at their expense occurring at the table opposite. Frowning, the Doctor noted that among the occupants of the other table was the same man who'd been so rude to Astrid earlier. He turned his back on them and approached the couple politely.

"Mind if I join you? It would seem the company here is preferable to certain other options," the Doctor opened with a significant gesture to the table behind him.

"Ignore them," said the woman, with a displeased frown, "they told us it was fancy dress. Very funny, I'm sure."

He partner supplied, "they're just picking on us because we didn't pay. We won our tickets in a contest."

"I had to name all five husbands of Joofie Crystalle in _By The Light Of The Asteroid_," the woman smiled proudly, "do you ever watch _By The Light Of The Asteroid_?"

The Doctor shook his head. "I'm afraid I've terrible luck with watching programmes; never can seem to catch them in the right order."

She nodded understandingly. "Well if you ever do manage it, it's marvellous!"

The man continued, "evidently it means we're not good enough for that lot, they think we belong in steerage."

The Doctor's eyebrows raised. He answered in a voice loud enough to be overheard, "well, it's a terrible shame that fine manners do not always accompany fine clothes, isn't it?"

The woman smiled warmly at him and patted his arm. "Oh, I like you."

The man grinned as well and said, "I'm Morvin Van Hoff and this here is my good woman Foon."

"Morvin. Foon. Delighted to make your acquaintance. I'm the Doctor," he replied charmingly.

Foon laughed, "I'll need a doctor, by the time I've finished with this buffet. Have a buffalo wing. They must be enormous, these buffalo, to have so many wings!"

His reply was interrupted by another announcement over the ship's public address system that shore leave for passengers bearing Red Six Seven tickets would be beginning shortly. Morvin and Foon dropped their chicken and scrambled to tidy themselves with napkins.

"Ooh, that's us!" Foon told the Doctor. "You going as well?"

"Why not?" he shrugged and stood.

"Well, come on then," Morvin urged them both, eager to be on his way, "we're visiting Earth!"

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_**a/n - Credit to Russell T Davies for the dialogue and plot points I've borrowed for this story; later chapters will diverge much more heavily from the events in **_**Voyage of the Damned**_**. As noted above, this story takes place in the Pete's World Universe, and as such, features Alt!Five as the protagonist. Obviously, his history is slightly different than our Doctor's, but he is, for the most part, incredibly similar in temperament and fashion-sense to the Five we all know and love.**** I hope you enjoy him here.**_

_**Those interested in seeing a larger version of the cover art made for this story will find one on my tumblr page. I use spacetimeconundrum there as well. Updates to this story will be made as my work schedule permits.**_


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

The Doctor, Morvin and Foon headed over to a small queue forming near where an older man in a tweed suit stood waving large metal bracelets and calling, "Red Six Seven, this way, if you would convene, fast as you can, Red Six Seven, departing shortly!" He began passing the bracelets out to the guests as they arrived.

As he followed the Van Hoffs to join the group, the Doctor passed Astrid walking by with a few beverages on her tray. She spotted him and eyes lighting up, she said, "I got you your drink," and paused to pass him a glass of something bubbly.

He grinned at her, suddenly getting an idea. He put down his drink and relieved her of her tray, setting it on a nearby table. "And I've got you something better my dear, come with me!" Taking her by the hand, he turned and waved to the man handing out bracelets, "Red Six Seven, two more, sorry we're late!"

"Hurry up then. If you would please take a teleport bracelet, both of you," the man replied, obviously in too much of a hurry to ask for the Doctor's credentials.

The Doctor slipped his on and grinned at Astrid. She tugged on his arm, pulling him off to the side to hiss, "are you mad? I'll get the sack!"

"Brave heart, Astrid," he said cheerfully, "occasionally one must take risks to realise your dreams." His grin gained a mischievous cast.

She looked down at the bracelet in her hands and then back at him. If her mother could see her now, she was sure she'd be getting a lecture about the foolishness of running off with handsome men she'd just met, but she slipped the bracelet on her wrist anyway. She hadn't come all this way just to serve drinks to ungrateful sods with terrible manners. The Doctor looked pleased and the two of them moved closer to the group, who'd gathered for the pre-transport briefing.

The tweed-suited man introduced himself as Mr. Copper, the ship's historian and informed them that they would be going to London, familiar territory for the Doctor, and proceeded to provide them with a wildly inaccurate description of the celebration of Christmas, involving, for some reason, cannibalism and zeppelins. The Doctor raised his eyebrows at this.

"Pardon me," he asked raising a hand, "but where ever did you hear this?"

Mr. Copper sniffed and straightened proudly, "I have a first class degree in Earthonomics. Now then, if you'd all..."

He was interrupted by the arrival of a small red spiked man in a tuxedo, who barrelled up to the group frantically waving his shore leave pass.

Mr. Copper sighed, "if you would take your bracelet sir, we're about to depart."

"Hold on," the Doctor stepped forward, "sorry, but, if I recall correctly, Earth is still a level five planet. Christmas Eve, the streets will be filled with shoppers in London right now. The rest of us, we'll pass for human but, I'm sorry, what was your name?" he asked the red man.

"Bannakaffalatta."

"...Bannakaffalatta here will surely draw unwanted attention. These people have had very limited contact with peaceful alien visitors, it could be very dangerous to take him down with us. My apologies," he added to Bannakaffalatta, who looked mildly affronted by this.

"Mr. Bannakaffalatta?" Mr. Copper looked to the man expectantly.

Bannakaffalatta looked at the Doctor as though he'd been particularly dim and tapped the silver cuff on his wrist. "Shimmer," was all he said and the Doctor blinked as his brilliant red colouring was replaced with a rather convincing human appearance. He raised a simulated eyebrow at the Doctor and turned back to face their guide. The Doctor closed his mouth and returned to Astrid's side without another word.

Mr. Copper clapped his hands and stepped over to the teleportation podium. "Now then, if you're all quite finished, we're already behind schedule as it is." He pressed a button and the Doctor felt the intensely unsettling sensation of having all of his internal organs shifted ever so slightly in opposite directions before being pressed back together again that tended to accompany teleports from this era.

Despite his prediction, the Doctor found himself standing on a largely deserted city street. He turned in place, looking for familiar landmarks to orient himself. It had been a while since he'd been in London any time near this period. He vaguely recalled a rise in the popularity of personal electronics and some disquietingly authoritarian curfew laws. His internal time sense calibrated itself to the planet quickly, he'd been to Earth rather frequently, after all, and told him that it was only nearing eight p.m. Behind him, Mr. Copper was instructing the others that local currency was available to purchase souvenirs should they find something they liked.

Where were all the shoppers? He had a sudden flash of concern that there were indeed curfew laws in effect in the city right now and they were all in violation of them. It certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd been apprehended within moments of landing on a planet, but it would rather spoil the nice outing he'd hoped to give Astrid, if it came to that. He turned to find her gazing in wonder at the scene around them and smiled.

"It's so beautiful," she murmured, eyes wide.

The Doctor had seen a great many things in his long life which he would gladly describe as breathtakingly beautiful. An abandoned high street in London hardly qualified. But this was why he brought companions with him in the TARDIS; they were more than just good company, they made him see what his old and often jaded eyes missed.

Astrid was positively ecstatic, babbling, half to herself, half to him. "Oh wow! It's a different planet! I'm standing on a different planet!" The Doctor grinned, her enthusiasm was contagious. "It's cold and there's like... concrete! And shops! Alien shops! Real alien shops! And what are those, airships? In the sky, making that humming sound?" She pointed upwards at London's ever-present zeppelin traffic. She spun around to take it all in before turning to look at him. "This is amazing! Thank you!" She seized the surprised Time Lord in a fierce hug.

When she released him, he took her by the hand and said, "let's see what other marvels we can find for you tonight."

The street was not, as he'd initially thought, _entirely_ abandoned. There was in fact a small news agent's stand with a light on not far from them, with the lonely silhouette of a man inside framed in its window. The Doctor led Astrid over to speak with the man.

Closer inspection revealed a man in his sixties, wearing a red woollen cap pulled down to cover his ears and two sets of holiday antlers festively perched atop his head. He had a steaming thermos of something warm at the ready and was watching a programme with the sound on low on a portable video screen perched on a shelf behind the counter. The headlines on the newspapers surrounding him were vaguely concerning, asking questions like "Is London Safe" and "Have We Found Them All?" "A World Remembers" read one weekly magazine nearest the Doctor; its cover featured a collage of thousands of tiny photographs, presumably of the victims of some great tragedy.

The feeling of unease in the Doctor's stomach returned. "Hello," he greeted the man, "I'm sorry, but could you tell me where everyone is?"

The man gave him a quizzical look. "Scared, I expect."

"Scared?" the Doctor asked, "scared of what exactly?"

"Where've you been, mate? S'only been a few months since they found that last bunch of 'em, hasn't it?"

"Pardon?" the Doctor wasn't sure what he was referring to.

"That Cybus lot, Lumic's metal horrors... the _Cybermen_," he said, exasperatedly, finally getting a response from the Doctor on this last name.

The Doctor, for his part, had gone white as a sheet. "There were Cybermen, here? In London?" He'd tangled with them before, seen the devastation of the Cyber Wars firsthand even, but those battles had all taken place in the far future. "What happened?" he asked the man, trying not to sound desperate, but well aware that this face did a rather poor job of masking his emotions most of the time. Astrid gave him a concerned look.

The older man frowned. "You really don't know? It was that Lumic fellow, they say. Thought he knew better than the rest of us what made a good human. Took over the EarPods, used 'em to lure people into his factories and used their brains for his metal monsters. Killed my Sylvia and about five million more poor souls." The man's voice was beginning to break down at this and the Doctor instantly regretted asking him to recount the tale. The man shook his head to regain his composure and continued, "but the Preachers stopped them, they did, and nobody's seen those metal monsters since they cleaned out Torchwood a few months ago. Just disappeared; everyone's worried they'll be back, you see."

He leaned forward and lowered his voice, "President Jones says they didn't kill 'em, but everyone knows the Torchwood Institute's been keeping alien technology in their vaults." He tapped his nose with a finger.

The Doctor nodded as he processed this information. He was too far removed from the pivotal events for his time senses to offer him any real clear picture of what had and would happen here but it felt like something big had been set in motion. What if the Earth was where the Cybermen had originated all along?

He knew that the fate of the entire universe, nor even, indeed, the fate of this small blue planet was not solely his personal responsibility but the Doctor couldn't help but feel a pang of regret that he hadn't been here to stop this from happening. Humanity had many faults, but he had grown quite attached to Earth over the years he'd spent travelling time and space.

He was about to thank the news agent for speaking with him but instead found himself being teleported back to the Titanic in orbit.

Back on the planet, the startled man shook his head as his potential customers disappeared before his eyes. "Tourists," he muttered and returned to his programme.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

The Doctor frowned as he realised he was back on the Titanic's observation deck along with the other, puzzled members of the shore leave party. He'd rather expected they'd be given some sort of warning before their planet-side time expired. He met Astrid's wide eyes and she shrugged, giving his arm a friendly squeeze as she ducked behind him to slip away from the group before one of her supervisors spotted her. Looking around, he noted that their abrupt recall to the ship had caught Mr. Copper by surprise as well; something must be wrong.

They were greeted by the anxious-looking Chief Steward who reassured everyone that their trip had merely been postponed for later due to a slight power fluctuation and that complimentary drinks would be provided as compensation for the inconvenience. Mr. Copper recovered from his own obvious confusion and began collecting the teleport bracelets from the passengers, adding in his own apologies as he directed everyone towards the bar.

The Doctor neatly dodged around the smaller man and walked up to the Chief Steward who no doubt had at least a _slightly_ better idea of what was going on than their inept tour guide. As his luck would have it, he was joined by the same crewman with whom he'd spoken to earlier regarding his lack of appropriate dinner attire. No doubt this conversation would go swimmingly as well.

"Excuse me, what sort of power fluctuation?" he asked, ignoring the rather disapproving gaze of the large crewman. Just as he spoke, the lights dimmed and flickered alarmingly. The crowd of partygoers around them paused only briefly in their revelry before resuming as though nothing amiss had occurred.

"Nothing to be concerned about sir; just a bit of a hiccough in the secondary power circuits, playing tricks with the lighting. We have multiple redundant circuits in place for all of the vital ship's systems for just this reason. If you would just rejoin your party in the bar, the crew will have everything back to normal in no time," the man answered him in a tone that spoke of a wealth of experience placating unhappy passengers. There was a hint of tension in his eyes though, that betrayed his own uncertainty.

"I'm sure under ordinary circumstances you would, but I'm quite skilled at sensing when things have deviated rather substantially from the norm and not terribly fond of being lied to, especially when it's for my own good. Whatever it is, I assure you, I can help." The Doctor's voice was firm but quick as he began to sense the tell-tale signs of imminent disaster coiling in the timelines around them.

The man did not get a chance to respond to him though. The lights flickered again and the ship shuddered. The Doctor spun around, looking out the nearest porthole. He could see nothing more than the glowing surface of the planet below them. Another forceful shudder, and stepping closer to the glass, the Doctor could see a thin trail of gas venting into space accompanied by a smattering of small rocks whizzing past the hull. An interstellar cruise ship like this, the shields should be more than capable of repelling meteorites of that size, he thought.

The rest of the passengers had now abandoned their drinking and dancing to gather around the windows to watch the incoming meteorite shower, largely oblivious to the very real danger they were all in. None of the jolts to the ship thus far had been severe enough to convince their intoxicated brains that this was anything other than a lovely show orchestrated by the cruise line for their enjoyment.

The steward had taken advantage of his distraction to beat a hasty retreat and without official access permissions, the information panels on the walls were of little use to him, so Doctor seized hold of the first golden robot host he encountered. It had been standing to the side, seeming completely oblivious to the activity around it on the observation deck. "What is the status of the shields?" the Doctor demanded of the host.

"Information regarding ship operations not available to guests for security reasons," it replied without moving.

"This is an emergency!" hissed the Doctor in frustration. "Don't you have special protocols for that? We've already had a minor hull breach!"

"Information: you are all going to die." The golden robot rotated its head to stare directly at the Doctor as it said this.

The Doctor's eyes widened and he backed away from the host. Sidestepping to avoid tripping over the many tables and chairs in his way, the Doctor turned to run for the exit at the rear of the observation deck's ballroom where the Chief Steward and the large crewman were headed. Not caring if he was overheard at this point, the Doctor shouted, "we appear to be headed right for a meteor shower and your little _power fluctuation_ could very well get us all killed if it's affected the shields! I suggest you get in contact with the bridge immediately!"

His noisy departure did not go unnoticed; he was followed out into the corridor by Astrid, Morvin, Foon, Bannakaffalatta, and the rude man in the dinner jacket. Out of sight of the guests, another member of the crew was frantically attempting to hail the bridge while Mr. Copper complained to his partner about the broken teleporters. The Chief Steward, still hoping to avoid a scene, shut the door to the ballroom as everyone began speaking at once.

The exasperated man held up his hands for quiet as the lights on the ship continued to flicker sporadically. Ignoring him, the Doctor pushed his way over to the crewman on the comm, neatly taking his place in front of a functional computer terminal. With a few swift keystrokes, he was able to bring up the ship's schematic and blanched at the collision warning blinking on the screen.

"The shields are down and we've got at least two large meteoroids headed right for us!" the Doctor cried.

The crewman who'd been attempting to contact the bridge spoke up, "sir, no one's answering the comm! Lieutenant Simms said his system's locked up and he can't get anyone on the bridge to answer him either."

The Doctor addressed the panicked group, raising his voice and attempting to imbue it with as much authority as he could muster, "we need to get everyone to the interior of the ship, as quickly as possible."

The crew, eager to have something to do, moved to obey him, but they were too late. The ship lurched violently, throwing them all across the compartment as the first of the larger meteoroids made impact. They were plunged into darkness when the power cut, giving them no warning to brace for the second strike. It was much worse than the first, and did considerably more significant damage to the ship; unbeknownst to those inside, it very nearly sheared the mighty cruise liner in half.

Inside the small corridor, sparks flew as electrical cabling snapped and everyone was tossed against the bulkheads like rag dolls just as the artificial gravity field failed, causing further chaos. The Doctor did his best to protect his head from debris with his arms until the turbulence ceased and they were all dumped unceremoniously back to the floor when the emergency power systems kicked in.

The Doctor landed heavily on his right side, all of his weight returning with only one arm outstretched to support himself, and he felt something wrench painfully as his elbow buckled beneath him. Gasping for air, he rolled over onto his back and waited for the pain to subside before shifting again to check on the others. In the dim emergency lighting, he saw Mr. Copper crawl out from beneath the damaged computer terminal, glasses askew, while in a corner, Morvin helped pull his wife unsteadily to her feet. Around him, the others were working on regaining their footing or were busy taking inventory of their own injuries.

The impact had dislodged two support struts near the door; they had fallen once the gravity returned and pinned one of the crewmembers and Bannakaffalatta to the floor. The Doctor rose to his feet carefully, clutching his arm, and bent to check on the two trapped men. The pinned crewman seemed to have suffered a blow to the head and wasn't breathing but Bannakaffalatta was moving his hands and groaning slightly.

"Here!" the Doctor called to the large crewman standing closest to him, "give me a hand will you? He's trapped under this." He turned back to reassure Bannakaffalatta that they'd have him out in a moment, only to find Astrid at his side, already doing her best to comfort the man.

The crewman didn't argue and left off helping the rude passenger look for his missing vone to assist the Doctor. He was joined by both of the Van Hoffs and together, they were able to lift the beam for long enough for the Doctor and Astrid to pull the small spiked man free. Belatedly, as he bent over the alien man to examine his injuries, it occurred to the Doctor that by removing the weight from his chest they may very well have simply accelerated his death; depending on how badly he'd been crushed, he could bleed out internally before they could do anything about it. But it seemed there was more to Bannakaffalatta than met the eyes, as he discovered when he pulled open the man's dress shirt to reveal a dented metal casing.

"You're a cyborg!" the Doctor marvelled.

Bannakaffalatta grunted and said in a defeated voice, "not so loud! No need for everyone to know. Just... need to recharge. Be fine."

The Doctor nodded after briefly verifying that he wasn't otherwise damaged and stood to see if anyone else required medical attention. Behind them, the Chief Steward had stepped forward to address the group.

"Ah. Ladies and gentlemen and beings of alternative designation, I must apologise on behalf of Max Capricorn Cruiseliners. We seem to have had a small collision..."

At that preposterous understatement, half the room erupted at once, the passengers talking over one another at the man, demanding explanations.

The steward looked overwhelmed but asserted himself quickly, "if everyone could just be silent, I'll be happy to address all of your concerns. A moment, if you will." No one listened. "QUIET PLEASE!" he finally shouted and that got the desired result.

"Thank you. Now," he huffed, "I'm sure Max Capricorn Cruiseliners will reimburse you for any inconvenience. In the meantime, I would like to point out that we are very much alive. If you could all remain here, I'm just going to ascertain the exact nature of our current predicament." With this, he straightened his uniform and pulled the handle on the door that led back to the ballroom.

"Wait!" the Doctor shouted when he heard the unmistakable hiss of escaping gases, but it was too late.

The door whipped open violently as the airlock seal was broken and both the Chief Steward and the smaller surviving crewman were sucked out of the compartment in the rush of released air. The other passengers were fortunately able to grab something to hang on to in time to avoid a similar fate. Feeling his respiratory bypass activate, the Doctor flung himself at the computer terminal and jabbed frantically at the controls until he found the emergency oxygen shield. He activated it and the wind in the corridor died down immediately.

"Is everyone all right?" he asked in a shaky voice. "Astrid? Morvin? Foon? Mr. Copper? Bannakaffalatta?" They all nodded. "You two, what are your names?" he asked the rude passenger and large crewmember.

"Rickston Slade," replied the smaller man, brushing off his tuxedo jacket.

"George Cavil," answered the crewman, not taking his eyes off of the doorway his fellow crewmembers had just been swept out of.

"You both all right?" the Doctor asked them.

"No thanks to that idiot, I am," Rickston growled.

"The steward just died!" Astrid admonished him.

"Well, then he's a dead idiot, isn't he?" Rickston snapped.

"Everyone, calm down," the Doctor commanded, "just stay put and no one touch any more doors until I get back."

He walked over through the open doorway to have a look, the shimmering force field that lay just beyond it the only thing separating them from the cold vacuum of space. Astrid followed and crouched next to him behind a sturdy piece of furniture that had been bolted to the floor, just in case.

"What happened? Why were the shields down?" she asked him quietly.

"I'm not sure, but I don't believe it was an accident," he answered her grimly.

Together they gazed out at the remains of the ballroom, an enormous section of the outer wall had been ripped open along with portions of several of the decks below. Lit by the reflected sunlight from the Earth below, they could make out bodies floating in the debris, and, to the Doctor's dismay, one familiar red police box.

He breathed a nearly silent Gallifreyan curse but Astrid heard him anyway and glanced at him sharply. "What was that?"

He ran a hand through his shaggy blond hair and sighed. "I was going to suggest that we try to get to my ship, but I'm afraid that won't be possible. That's it out there," he pointed. "That red box over there."

"That's a spaceship?" Astrid sounded incredulous. "Seems awful small." He gave her a look. "Not that there's anything wrong with small," she amended.

He sighed again and drummed the fingers of his good arm against his leg. "Haven't got a remote control then?" she suggested hopefully.

He laughed. "No, but that's a good idea." He frowned as they watched the TARDIS grow more distant. "She's programmed to lock on to the nearest centre of gravity if she's set adrift, a modification I added after the last incident required an impromptu spacewalk to retrieve her. Unfortunately for us, that means she'll head for the planet."

"Damn."

"Precisely," he agreed.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Astrid sat with the Doctor as he watched his beloved ship disappear from view with a forlorn expression on his face. She shivered at the death and destruction all around them, moving closer to him for comfort; if she hadn't followed the Doctor into the corridor, it could have just as easily been her body out there, floating away to burn up in the atmosphere of a planet far from home.

"So many people gone... what do we do now?" she asked him, knowing that the others were likely getting restless waiting on them.

Her question snapped him out of his own dark thoughts and refocused him to the problem at hand. "First thing," he said, standing, "we need to see about getting in touch with other survivors on the crew. We're in danger of losing orbit if we can't get the engines fully back online."

"Oh." She'd been too distracted by the scope of the damage to realise that it was much quieter on the ship than it ought to be; the normal steady hum and gentle vibration of the deck plates that she'd become so accustomed to was missing.

She must've appeared frightened by this new information, because the Doctor seized her by the shoulders and knelt to look her in the eyes and reassure her. "Look at me, Astrid. I'm going to get us out of here alive. I promise."

Up close, she noticed that his eyes were a deep, calming blue; there was something about them made her want to believe him. She nodded and got to her feet.

They returned to the corridor to join the others. George had found a medical kit and was busy applying a splint to Mr. Copper's wrist. Morvin and Foon were sitting with Bannakaffalatta, discussing something about his circuitry. Rickston had located his missing vone and was pacing up and down angrily as he struggled to get it to work.

The Doctor removed fallen debris from the computer terminal and retrieved the comm handset. It powered on, always a good sign. "Where are we exactly?" he asked George.

"Forward corridor nine on deck twenty two," the crewman replied.

The Doctor keyed the comm. "Deck Twenty Two to the Bridge, hello? Is anyone there? Deck Twenty Two to the Bridge, come in please."

Silence. Everyone in the room held their breath as they waited for a response.

Then, a weary voice crackled over the comm, "...this is the Bridge."

"Hello! Good to hear a friendly voice at last." The Doctor grinned, delighted that someone at the helm had survived the impact. "We've seven people alive here, but the majority of the foredeck is a loss, I'm afraid. What's the situation up there?"

There was a pause, followed by, "we've got air; looks like the oxygen shield is holding for now, but the Captain, he's dead." The man's voice grew sharp and panicky. "He did it. He pulled the shields down - I tried to stop him but there was nothing I could do! I did try..."

"That's all right, I'm sure you did. Stay with me. Tell me your name," the Doctor said gently.

"Midshipman Frame, sir,"

"Good to meet you, Midshipman, I'm the Doctor. Now, are there any lifeboats onboard?"

"They're all offline; it's like it was deliberate!"

The Doctor frowned, their situation just kept getting better and better. "Never mind that for now, I need to you check on the engines for me. We're drifting out of orbit."

"Hold on." There was a heavy sound of something metal being moved slowly and a gasp of pain from Frame.

"Are you injured?"

"I'm all right, don't worry about me," he replied and the Doctor could hear him breathing heavily over the comm. "Oh no! They're cycling down, we're losing power."

The Doctor thought quickly. "That's a Nuclear Storm Drive, correct?"

"Yeah. If they power all the way down, we'll never get them started again in time!"

The Doctor grimaced. Something needed to be done quickly; if they lost the engines entirely, it would be more than just their lives at stake. In a crash, a Nuclear Storm Drive was nothing more than a massive bomb. The ship could easily kill millions on impact and release a cloud of radiation that would contaminate an even greater area for decades. The Earth below them was still recovering from their clash with the Cybermen; they didn't need nuclear fallout to add to their worries. None of this, however, was getting them out of danger so he pushed those thoughts aside and tried to remember what he knew about how these particular engines were designed.

"Midshipman, I need you to fire up the Engine Containment Field and feed it back into the Core. That should stabilize things until I can get up there to help you."

"That'll never work, you'll overload the system!" the man cried, but the Doctor could tell he'd obeyed him anyway when the ship lurched as the engines regained some of their previous vigour. "The field's been rerouted but none of the helm controls are responding! Someone's going to have to get aft and reset the manual override from there. I can't get any of the engineers on the comm."

The Doctor spoke deliberately, keeping his own concerns from his voice, "it won't overload, at least, not right away; it ought to buy us about five hours, which should be sufficient." He tapped at the computer terminal, trying to find a map of the Titanic to use. There, seventeen decks below them, to the rear of the ship, was the auxiliary engine control bay. The map was far from comprehensive, but the Doctor did his best to memorize a few possible routes. He had no idea how damaged the rest of the ship was, but the fact that they still had some power was encouraging.

"We're closer," the Doctor told him, "I'll reset the manual override. You just keep those engines humming and the oxygen inside the ship. Don't stop trying to get in touch with other survivors if you can."

"There's supposed to be an automatic emergency beacon. We should have rescue ships on the way, but I'm not showing a signal." The bridge crewman still sounded breathless.

The Doctor leaned forward over the terminal desk and winced as he accidentally put weight on his right arm. Straightening and pulling the arm back to his chest protectively, he turned to face the others in the room with him as he thought. Spotting Rickston standing against a bulkhead, glowering at him with his vone in hand, a possibility occurred to him.

"Rickston, your vone isn't working either?" He held out a hand to the disgruntled man. "Let me see it." The man reluctantly parted with the gadget. The Doctor retrieved his glasses from a pocket and examined the vone carefully.

"It doesn't look like it was damaged; you should be able to get a signal on this practically anywhere."

"Considering what I paid for it, I ought to, yes," Rickston grumbled.

The Doctor returned to the comm. "Mr. Frame, I suspect that whomever is responsible for the sabotage of this ship has set up a blanketing field. I very much doubt that anyone knows we're in trouble out here. It's probably wisest to assume we're on our own."

Behind him, Foon wailed that they were all going to die and started to sob. This set off the others as well; the tone of their voices beginning to verge on panic as they speculated as to who could've done such a thing and what would happen to them. Only Astrid and the Doctor managed to maintain their composure. He needed to step in before the situation got entirely out of hand.

He stood straighter and raised his voice in an attempt to recapture their attention to little avail until Astrid interrupted their crying and arguing with an ear splitting whistle. They stopped talking and starred at her.

"That's better. Panicking isn't going to do us any good; listen to the Doctor, he has a plan," Astrid yielded the floor to the Doctor with a wink.

"Ah, thank you," he nodded to her appreciatively, "as I was trying to say, we may be on our own, but hope is not lost. We just need to remain calm. We have air, we have power, for a few more hours at least, and _we are going to survive_. Step one is simple. We're going to climb through the ship..."

"Now wait just a minute. Who put you in charge?" Rickston demanded.

"Recently? The High Counsel of Gallifrey," was the Doctor's dry reply.

Rickston didn't even blink at this and continued speaking, clearly well-convinced of his own importance. "Well I don't know who the hell they are, but..."

"Oh do shut up, will you?" the Doctor interrupted him. He'd had quite enough of this nonsense today. "We've seventeen decks to traverse so that we can restore power to the engines before this ship loses orbit, killing everyone aboard and millions on the planet below. I'm a Time Lord. I've spent more than six hundred years dealing with situations like this and it would help, _it really would_, if you quit arguing and let me get on with saving all of our lives."

Rickston closed his mouth. The others were looking at the Doctor as though he'd suddenly grown a second head; he'd been remarkably polite in tone despite his urgency up until this point and he'd found with this body especially, people generally tended to underestimate him. This was not without its occasional benefits, true, but it did make getting people to listen to him when the time came to take charge of a situation more difficult.

Tegan had once had to drag him away from a carnival hawker who'd been operating a "Guess Your Age" betting game. He'd only been trying to prove a point that time was relative and once you'd done enough travelling through the galaxy, age became an extremely subjective measurement, but she'd reminded him that Earth in 1892 was perhaps not the best venue for that conversation. She may have had a point when she'd suggested that he'd just been upset that the man had guessed he was only twenty seven.

"Anyone else have any objections?" he asked the group mildly.

No one spoke up. George and Mr. Copper shook their heads. Foon wiped her tears and stood with her husband, putting on a brave face. Bannakaffalatta regained his feet as well and straightened his dinner jacket. Rickston scowled but stayed silent. Astrid grinned at him.

"Right then. Shall we?"


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

Wary of the unfortunate fate that met the last person in their party to blithely open a door, the Doctor approached the hatch at the far end of the small corridor cautiously. Grasping the handle tightly, he nodded to the others. "Best hold tight to something, just in case." They hastily obeyed him.

Screwing his eyes shut in anxious anticipation, the Doctor turned the handle slowly and eased the door open. When it swung quietly without any dramatic shifts in air pressure, they all breathed a sigh of relief and pushed onward into the adjoining compartment. Unlike the observation deck, this section had not been sheared open to space, though the damage done by the collision with the meteorites was quite evident. The survivors picked their way carefully through the scattered debris, eyeing the bowed bulkhead support struts for any sign of sudden failure.

They repeated this procedure of incremental progress through the next three hatches before encountering an obstacle that required them to divert from the more or less direct course that the Doctor had plotted. Just beyond an area that under normal circumstances served as a foyer for some of the ship's elegantly appointed first class staterooms, they came to a narrow corridor that had been entirely blocked by a collapsed wall. Unable to shift it, even with the combined efforts of the burly George, the Doctor, and cyborg Bannakaffalatta (three persons being the maximum number of bodies that could be reasonably positioned to make the attempt with any hope of efficacy), they were forced to backtrack.

Regrettably, both to the Doctor's recollection of the map and George's memory, there was very little in the way of readily available alternate routes from their present location. Both the nearest bank of lifts and service stairway lay opposite the blocked passage. Having quite recovered from his minor humbling outside the observation deck, Rickston pounced at the slightest sign of hesitation on the Doctor's part and launched into a lengthy diatribe on their current state of affairs and the disgraceful status of the Max Capricorn Corporation in general. Lacking a better plan, and perhaps not just a little motivated by a hearty desire to see the back of Rickston's whinging for a moment, the Doctor decreed that they should divide their forces to search the staterooms for secondary exits or in the very least something that might prove useful in clearing the fallen wall away.

George helpfully supplied the emergency passcode to open the private guestrooms and the Doctor and Astrid took the door nearest to the end on the left. The suite was comprised of a central sitting room and discrete entertainment area with an attached bedroom and bath. Keeping in theme with the ship's name, it managed a respectable reproduction of early 20th century Earth decorative styling. The walls were covered in light wooden paneling and richly hued fabrics dominated the soft furnishings. Structurally, the stateroom had escaped significant damage, perhaps because they were further toward the interior of the ship, but something seemed amiss. A single velvet chair had been overturned and a glass table had been shattered with no sign of the cause in evidence. Curiosity turned to alarm as they approached the scene to discover blood amidst the broken glass.

"Someone's been hurt," Astrid murmured quietly. She looked around quickly, as though the injured person might appear suddenly from behind the sofa.

"Yes," was the Doctor's curt reply and he moved swiftly to check the adjoining room. In the bedroom there was more blood, quite a lot of it actually, and more distressingly, the former occupant of the suite, now obviously deceased. Astrid followed him in and gasped when she saw the body lying next to the bed. The Doctor crouched next to the man; despite the generous quantity of blood splashed about, he had a sinking suspicion that the glass hadn't been what killed him. The man hadn't been dead very long and when the Doctor rolled the body to examine his injuries, his head flopped forward at a sickening angle.

"His neck's been snapped," the Doctor stood quickly, rubbing his palms against his trousers.

"How'd he get in here then?" she asked without thinking.

The Doctor simply looked at her, his demeanour deadly serious, all trace of the charming young man he'd seemed before had disappeared from his eyes. "Oh. Oh!" She'd been so focused on the meteor strike that her mind had completely skipped over the possibility that the man could've been deliberately killed by someone. "Do you think whoever did this is still onboard the ship?" she asked.

"That's what I'm afraid of," he replied and turned to make a grim search of the en suite. It was free of lurking murderers, but that didn't exactly make the Doctor feel much better. In his more maudlin moments, he often felt that perhaps Tegan had been right in claiming that death and destruction seemed to follow him around. He worried that the part of himself that relished the danger and excitement somehow attracted it, as though his presence formed a gravity well for calamity. A rational portion of his mind, whose voice sounded remarkably like his third self, reminded him that there would be plenty of time to contemplate his place in the universe _after_ he'd dealt with the current catastrophe.

He returned to the bedroom to find Astrid standing next to the body, clutching protectively a length of metal tubing that must have come from the broken table. Her pale eyes were focused on the dead man but she looked up at him when he entered. The fear that had been so evident in her expression earlier had been replaced by a fierce determination that made him both proud and a little bit sad. How quickly they adapted to the most dire of circumstances.

"Nothing in the bath. We'll just have to keep our wits about us as we continue on. Find anything of use out here?" he asked with a somewhat ironic glance at the makeshift weapon she'd acquired.

Her cheeks coloured slightly and her hand tightened on the tube but she resisted the urge to explain it. "There's a ventilation access port in the other room, but it's far too small to squeeze through," she replied, back on task, quick as lightning.

"A pity, it's been ages since I've had the opportunity to crawl through claustrophobic metal ducting," he joked, in an attempt to lighten the mood. He caught the barest flicker of a smile cross her face. Good, her sense of humor hadn't abandoned her just yet. "Let's go see if the others are getting on any better."

When he opened the door, it became apparent to the Doctor that he'd overlooked something critical when he'd suggested they split their party; unlike the less exclusive passenger cabins, the first class suites were heavily soundproofed. His ears were greeted by shouts of terror and the sounds of an ongoing struggle. He and Astrid ran towards the commotion emanating from the open doorway to one of the adjacent suites.

Inside was pure chaos. In their absence, the rest of the group had come under attack. Two of the golden host robots that he'd first encountered on the observation deck were presently attempting to kill them all. One had Foon's arm in a tight grip and was swinging wildly to pull her in tighter. She was kicking and screaming at it while Morvin and Bannakaffalatta tried to pull her free. The other robot was advancing toward them to aid its partner despite the efforts of George, Rickston and Mr. Copper to restrain it from behind.

"Doctor!" George shouted when he spotted him. "The Hosts have gone mad! And the emergency shut off switches aren't working!"

The Doctor ducked as a golden halo came whizzing past his head. Mr. Copper's hold on the robot's right arm had faltered, allowing it to fling him back against the wall and release its deadly projectile. The Doctor rushed forward further into the room and grabbed hold of a chair.

"Astrid! Get Mr. Copper out of here! George, Rickston, keep that thing back for just a moment longer if you can!" he exclaimed, charging toward the other Host with his chair.

Holding it in front of himself like a shield, or more accurately, a battering ram, the Doctor executed his best rugby tackle at the robot's legs, shouting for Morvin and Bannakaffalatta to pull Foon free as it toppled over backwards. The impact rattled his teeth and sent shooting pains up his already injured arm but it was effective. He didn't have time to lay about and recover though. He rolled clear of the Host and pulled himself to his feet as quickly as possible.

"Everyone, run!" he bellowed as he followed his own advice.

George and Rickston released their struggling Host and cleared the threshold hot on the Doctor's heels. He slammed a hand on the door controls, frantically keying in the lock sequence as the menacing robot headed towards them, arms outstretched, face eerily impassive.

"Information," it said, voice coldly metallic, "all survivors must be killed."

"Sorry," the Doctor replied to it, "afraid we've other plans this evening!"

The door sealed closed just before it reached them and the Doctor borrowed Astrid's metal tube to smash the lock controls for good measure.

"What the bloody hell was that?!" Rickston snarled.

Ignoring him, the Doctor turned to the others. They looked much the worse for wear, but they were all still alive at least. "That won't hold them long. We need to get out of here. Fast."

"Bannakaffalatta found way out. Was coming to tell when Host attacked. Broken wall has two sides." The spiky red man grinned.

"Marvelous, lead on!" the Doctor cried.

Bannakaffalatta led them to the door directly opposite the stateroom the Doctor and Astrid had searched. This suite had been larger and thanks to its location nearer to the port side of the ship, had sustained far more damage than the starboard cabins. The fallen wall that had blocked their passage to the stairwell had originally been a part of this stateroom. It meant climbing over unsteady rubble and an incredibly tight squeeze for some of their party, but the fear of death is a remarkable motivator.

Once through the corridor, they were able to force the door to the stairwell open wide enough to clamber inside. They might've stopped to catch their breath there had the space been in better shape. As it was, while the stairs themselves seemed sound enough, the two bulkhead walls nearest to the collapse in the corridor bowed dangerously and in several places heavy girders had shifted to narrow the passage to the below decks. The Doctor urged them onward carefully, promising that once they'd exited the stairwell, they would find a safe place to rest for a bit before continuing.

Both fortunately and unfortunately, the stairs they'd taken did not descend further than Deck Thirty Five. This was largely merciful insofar as now that the immediate danger of the deadly Hosts had passed, and invigorating stress hormones faded from their bloodstreams, many of them had begun to feel their injuries and fatigue in earnest. It did, however, mean that after they'd rested, there would still be two more decks to traverse.

Mr. Copper's condition was the worst of the lot, and the group took turns carrying him along. Astrid took it upon herself to keep him talking to keep his spirits up and mind off of the terrible pain he was clearly experiencing. The Doctor listened quietly to their conversation as he attempted to ignore the throbbing of his own right arm.

"There'll be an inquiry when this is all over you know," the older man muttered. "Loads of official types, asking questions. Pointing fingers. They'll find me out for sure," he half sobbed.

"Find what out?" Astrid asked him.

"I haven't really got a proper degree in Earthonomics, lied about my qualifications t'get this job. Worked my whole life on Sto, and in the end I didn't have anything to show for it, to retire with, you see." He sighed heavily. "Earth seemed like such a _nice_ planet, with their Christmas and zeppelins."

"That doesn't seem so bad," Foon piped up from behind them, encouragingly.

"Except the minimum sentence for fraud is ten years! I'm an old man, I won't make it ten years in prison," he moaned.

"I'm sure we'll think of something. Just you worry about getting out of here in one piece first, huh?" Astrid soothed.

"I do believe this is our exit," the Doctor announced. They had arrived at the base of the seemingly endless stairwell at last.

They repeated the now familiar air pressure check doorway procedure and soon found themselves in yet another debris-strewn interior corridor. After a quick survey that the other doors connected with this section were secure, the Doctor declared it safe for them to stop.

"Ooh, look what we've got here," Morvin exclaimed. "A food trolley!"

"Thank goodness, I'm starving!" Foon added.

"Of course you're excited to see food," Rickston snarked rudely.

"You'll not be wanting any then?" Foon looked at him archly, "no skin off my nose, more here for the rest of us."

Astrid stepped in. "Let's first see what we have in the trolley before anyone starts eating, shall we?"

The Doctor left them to sort the provisions and went to see if he could get the comms up and running in the room. He wanted to check in with Midshipman Frame regarding the status of the ship since they'd last been in contact and warn him about the Host.

A few loose wires reconnected and they were in business. "Deck Thirty Five to Bridge, Midshipman, are you still with us?" he hailed.

A crackle and then, "is that you Doctor?" His voice sounded weaker than it had before.

"Indeed it is. We're whole if not hale and hearty down here, had a bit of a run in with the Host. Seems someone has programmed them to kill. What's the situation on the Bridge, are you safe?"

"I... I had to use the maximum deadlock on the Bridge, sir. The Host are outside; they won't be able to get in, but neither will anyone else," Frame replied.

"We'll deal with that when it comes to it. Have you been able to contact any other survivors?" the Doctor asked.

"I had, briefly... but, the Host, I've gotten reports that they're all over the ship. I've got the internal sensor grid running as best as it can manage and all the pockets of lifesigns keep going dark!"

"Have you any idea where someone might be controlling them from?" The Doctor prodded the small datascreen in front of him, now showing the familiar ship's schematic thanks to George's security code. With the additional sensor data, it was now populated with faint blue dots in the few remaining portions of the ship where lifesigns lingered. He noticed that the map also indicated where the sensor grid was active, giving him a rough idea of the scope and location of the damage to the ship. He sucked in a breath through his teeth sharply. It was worse than he'd thought.

"Could be anywhere, really, or just someone's cleverly hacked their programming. The Host are all linked into the ship's secondary computer system, it has access nodes all over the place," Frame told him.

The Doctor peered closely at the schematic. Something wasn't right here, a dark spot on the sensor grid, far from the impact zones of the meteor strikes.

"Mr. Frame, what's on Deck Thirty One? Do you see this dark sector on the map?" he asked.

"Nothing much, it's a cargo deck mostly. Host storage bay is near there. I'm not getting anything from that section though, no power, no heat signature, nothing!"

"That may bear investigating then, once I've dealt with the engines," the Doctor told him.

"I can try and increase the scans." The midshipman's voice had grown stronger with newfound purpose.

"Let me know if you find anything," the Doctor signed off and slid wearily to the floor with his back to the wall.

He could feel precious seconds ticking by as he sat there, but despite the Host's attack, they'd made good enough time. The engines were holding steady for now; he could allow himself, and the others, a proper break. Fumbling with the knot of his bow tie with his left hand he managed to tug it loose and unbutton his collar. His right arm felt warm to the touch even through his clothing and wouldn't bend at the elbow. He might've torn a ligament or two, he wasn't sure. Thanks to his Time Lord biology, it would heal rapidly, but not without real sleep, a luxury he couldn't afford just yet. A light doze against a bulkhead wall was about as good as he was going to get.

His attempted nap was soon interrupted by the sensation of someone settling in next to him. He opened one eye to see who it was; Astrid, of course.

She smiled at him and held up some food. "Saved you some. You might be a fancy Time Lord action hero bloke, but you still need to eat."

He accepted the vaguely sandwich-like offering with a grateful smile. "Thank you."

She gave him a cheeky once over, "although, I must say, you're looking pretty good for six hundred."

He chuckled as he ate, still somewhat oblivious to her flirtation, "closer to nine, actually."

She laughed and leaned in closer to him. "Even better then." Something in her tone made him look up to meet her eyes. The Doctor finally caught her meaning and felt a blush creep to his cheeks. He found himself suddenly quite at a loss for words.

Their conversation might have continued but the Doctor was spared possible further awkwardness by a loud 'TWUMP'ing sound from one of the metal doors.

"We've got Host incoming!" George shouted.

* * *

**_a/n - oh hey, this story's not dead! Sorry about that; I moved across an entire continent, things got crazy for a bit as a result._**

**_Nice big chapter for you guys this time, complete with deadly robots and cheeky proto-companions flirting with the Doctor. More to come soon! Feedback is wonderful and much appreciated._**


End file.
